Gimme That Donut: October 2008

Stretch out and wait, stretch out and wait.
There is no debate, no debate, no debate.
How can you consciously contemplate
When there's no debate, no debate?
- The Smiths

Number One:
For the most part, I'm severely tempted to just stop updating this blog. In the last couple of months, I've slid into a new weekly rhythm that won't permit me the luxury of filling this place with entries. The problem, too, is that I have this overriding compulsion to make every post as "meaningful" and as well-composed as the circumstances will allow me, yakkety yak andallthatshit. So I am now tired of that, and no longer care about order, and care even less about scrutiny and harrumphing from a perceived audience. Sweet!

Number Two:
The word "harrumph" will always remind me of Naya. As will "melons".

Number Three:
The reason why I no longer have said luxury of time is because I am currently juggling three jobs, which is, of course, what any sane person will do. Right? How could you be any more rational than by signing up for three jobs, all of which require enough effort from you so that you end up sweating gallons of blood by the week? Taken altogether, my jobs have transmogrified into a new god, whom we will call Xo'catlpiggytoktok, and he wants your bodily secretions. Xo'catlpiggytoktok won't take any old, corny bowl of bodily fluids -- he wants you to give it to him by way of three jobs!!

If you want to worship this novel, awesome, and absolutely modern god, send me a message. I'm sure I can find some things for you to do, and Xo'catlpiggytoktok will be very pleased with your urine offering.

Number Three:
Spent the weekend hiking with Jose, his brother's family, and his brother's friends. The destination: Daraitan, which is somewhere in Rizal, although I'm not very sure about the mountain's exact location -- I was sleeping in the car, blessing Jose's lap with my drool. The weather was inclement, and I was not all too satisfied with the hike's logistical organization andallthatcrap. While I'm usually very cluttered in ordinary life, I become anal, paranoid, and cagey when it comes to mountaineering.

Jose and I right after disembarking from the banca.

For example: I will bring shitloads of trail food and at least one can of Spam for emergency food, because there is nothing more disastrous than hunger rending your belly in two. I want to bring my own tarp, which is fucking huge and cumbersome, but I will bring it anyway. I keep my own stash of plastic bags for trash, I bring a boxful of elastic bands and yards and yards of kernmantle rope, plus more water than is necessary. I will also bring tons of shampoo and soap (in case people need extras), a whole packet of bandages, and enough Tanduay to keep me happy when evening cloaks us. I also bring a thesaurus so I can look up other synonyms for words like "verdant", "soporific", "fecund", and use them on my fellow climbers, who will no doubt appreciate the breadth of my vocabulary, so useful on the summit of a mountain. I'm kidding.

Tristan, Jose, and me going along the trail.

Back to Daraitan. Quite a shame, really. Our campsite looked pretty, a genuine charmer, with enough space for three tents and a camp kitchen, not to mention enough surface area for frolicking, although not big enough to do a Julie Andrews impression and trill away about how the hills are alive. The site was carpeted with grass of a greenness so stunning, you could've sworn you were looking at a calendar shot. The area was fringed with bushes dotted with shy, yellow blooms, and over the area presided a tree of impressive girth and height.

Great campsite. Until you set foot on it, and you realize that the place itself is aswarm with vicious black ants, ready to climb onto your feet and deliver multiple mean bites. Worse, the ants were everywhere. You think I'm being figurative here, enjoying the hyperbole, but I am not! Good god, you could even see wriggling clumps of those ants where they found some food. Elsewhere, they just seemed really mad that we'd intruded upon their territory, and we were all of us slapping away at our legs, our arms, our feet.

I am now of the conviction that those ants must have been shot up with Red Bull. To demonstrate: I had a ziploc bag filled with chips, nacho chips, tasty hiking chow. I set the baggie down by the bushes before unfurling our tent, before I noticed that the site was an explosive profusion of ants. By the time I got back to my bag of chips, goddamn, those ants had gnawed a hole clean through the thick plastic, and a multitude of them was already writhing among the chips, punch-drunk happy. I am, however, quite a fighter, and decided to pick through the chips and flick out every ant I could find. Nobody touches my chips, nobody!

Oh, and dogs raided our stash of food during the night. They fled with a tubful of margarine and 1 1/2 kilos of pork ribs, which was supposed to be for the second day's lunch. I mean, the margarine was supposed to be our lunch. The ribs would have been used for making nice native jewelry and ornaments, meat and all.

Number Four:
The hike did have its highlights, namely:
1. The drinking!
2. Hotdogs for breakfast!
3. Sharing a tent with Jose!
4. Keeping Jose company during the descent, a first for the both of us! In the past, I would always hike far ahead of him, because I find it difficult to slow down once I get started. Also, in previous climbs, I've always been assigned to the lead pack group. Jose's not as fast, and though his pace is fine, I knew that hiking at a pace far removed from your natural speed can tire you out fast.

Nyuk nyuk.

Adjusting my speed and controlling it so it didn't go beyond a certain mark was new for me, and I wouldn't have done it for anyone but Jose. We went hiking up Batad, but I didn't hike with him. This time, though, I made sure I hiked with him, even if I was meters ahead of him at various points. Slowing down did sap me a little of my energy, but it wasn't so bad. It was awesome to see him walk towards me, all handsome and shining and grinning. Jose's always handsome, shining, and grinning, whatever the terrain, whatever the setting, whether on a mountain or on a city street. The ants can get my chips for all I care; I struck gold with Jose. He can also buy me more chips. HAH!

Please give me nacho chips.

Number Five:
Met up with Brian tonight after a long time of not seeing each other. We always claim we're just going to have a beer each, but that never happens. The bottle count usually climbs up to two, then three, until we have two buckets of beer and very unhappy livers. This time, we just had two, because we decided to be well-behaved. Nothing new with him, Brian's still as hopeless a moron as they come. Still, he's a moron I am fond of. I just wish he would get rid of that stupid hairdo that makes him look like an underpaid extra for a Korean telenovela.